


The Dark Befalls Us

by gyromitra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, VS!AU, but i do this one for every fandom, drabble time, drabble work, my wife will kill me :D, since it's the best game ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: Vagrant Story AU. Stll working on everything else, but, ah, ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

He inquired once. Jack spared him a slightly raised eyebrow.

“What, doesn’t fit your idea of a kid from rural Indiana?”

“No. Seen some like this one, on gang members.”

“It’s a religious thing,” the blonde laughed. “No gangs of this type in little rural towns. Lots of strange cults, but, you know, religious freedom and shit.”

Gabriel never asked about the tattoo again. Now he figures he should have as he sees the same shapes on his own back – following the line of his spine, four arms of the cross splayed between his shoulders, words hard to read on dark skin.

“You are… ready…” Jack said, bloody bubbles breaking on his lips with each exhale, hand reaching out, and Gabriel grabbed him, conscious of the fact that if trauma team reached them now the blonde would have a chance, a slight one, but still a non zero percentage. But there was no team coming. “You will… know…”

Moments later a second explosion rocked the building and in the blinding light everything ended.

Maybe it was merely a memory, a subconscious way to keep a part of Jack with himself, to imitate his former best friend and a man he understood too late that he came to love, in a way.

Even when he fought to keep his body looking approximately human, the tattoo remained, and so did the whispers.


	2. Chapter 2

When he finally has the man under his claws, shadow hounds at his heels, the whispers sing, and Reaper wants nothing less than to rip the life out of him.

“And you want to kill the only one that can tell you what you carry on your back?” The vigilante laughs, sound strained and breaking with the pressure on his throat. Reaper waits. “The only one who knows and doesn’t want to take it from you?”

“And that would be?” Reaper seethes, shadows coiling along the length of his hand.

“When your soul died, he passed it to you, the Blood-Sin.” There is truth in what the man says, the whispers are satisfied, and Reaper releases him, slowly, but doesn’t let him go. “You are the new Prophet. But even after all those years, your control is shit,” the vigilante chuckles.

Reaper growls and the hounds nervously pace behind him, rippling at the edges.

“You don’t think big. Dogs, really? Try for a wyvern or maybe a dragon.”

_Something nibbles at his memory, the image of the omnium and an enormous shadow ripping through the reinforced concrete and steel, Jack licking his bloodied lips and whispering ‘good boy’ under his breath. Rest of their squad dead or dying to the bullets and the explosives._

_“Keep it to yourself, would you?” Jack quips when the closest body disappears slowly in drifting bright points. “We’ve got a God to kill, after all.”_

“Stop the fairytale bullshit.”

“Something tells me you should put more faith in fairytales,” the vigilante chuckles, holding his wounded arm to his chest. “I’ll be in France next, hope you can find me.”

He steps back, fading, through the brick wall.


	3. Chapter 3

The town is small – almost deserted – and ancient, residences built with white chalky stone over the cliffs, left untouched by omnic wars. Strangely, it also houses Talon research base.

“You can feel it, the thrum against the back of your head?” The vigilante asks, crouched on the roof with the moon too big and bright behind him, and Reaper wants to send his shadows after him, wants to but abstains. “It’s a Grimoire, the lines of the spells written into the foundations of the city itself.”

The man jumps down, graceful landing not stopped by a hound emerging from the shadow beside him.

“Talon wants to rip it out of the stones itself. Your… friend did it by himself when he was ten.”

“How would you know?” Reaper is suspicious even if the whispers hum with agreement.

“I was here,” the vigilante digs out a necklace from under his jacket, showing a medallion of the same shape as the tattoo. “He taught us. He was our Prophet. Think of him,” he laughs quietly.

_“Think of me,” Jack answers him, his hand trailing just below the surface of the creek, each stride bringing up glowing insects that fade in the darkness. The same hand presses against his wound and the flesh knits together. Blue eyes pierce him with that unusual focus that made people listen to the blonde. “Think of me and forget.”_

“The reading will make it much harder for them to acquire the Grimoire, for years. We should just about manage,” the vigilante seems to look at him with an expectation, and Reaper listens to the whispers that urge him to do something – what, he doesn’t know, not yet. The man grabs his hand. “Concentrate on the voices, inside and outside. Feel the Blood-Sin. The Dark is a whisper and a dance in cinders. Get lost in the sound of the drums…”

_“Get lost in the sound of the drums,” Jacks tells him, pulling him towards the fire, a moment of respite in the war. “Have some fun, Gabe.” And later, when it is only them and the embers die in the night air, he asks him something entirely different. “Don’t forget me. Don’t forget this.” But he did._

The whispers sing and blue glow envelops both of them. Reaper knows with sudden certainty how to tweak the reality to make himself a shadow between the light and slow the sound of a footstep.

“Good,” the vigilante brings up his rifle. “Now let them think it was me. I will find you again.” Pulse shot tears apart one of the hounds and Reaper snarls, feeling the tug on his own essence and a rush of surprise betrayal. Or annoyance.

The man runs, followed by the beasts that are hounds no more, now something much more bestial and predatory, red eyes glinting and teeth glowing. But he laughs for a brief second.

_Jack laughs, down from the mat, nose bloody and a nasty bruise forming on his left cheek. “You got me good. Up for another?”_


	4. Chapter 4

“How’s the new knowledge treating you?” The man asks from the vantage point, irritating as always, but the beast that goes for him stops when he holds out his hand. “Years too early, Prophet. Lot of work ahead of you.” Another hulking silhouette jumps him, jaws snapping at the thin air as he stands just a step to the side, and then it dissipates in little lights. “I can hardly fault you for trying.”

But Reaper concentrates on a boy sitting idly by the man, a figure washed out of color, lips moving.

_“It was a great responsibility that I had to bear. The Prophet was dying.”_

 The sting when the vigilante shoots one of the remaining beasts rips him from his reverie.

“I’d appreciate if you kept out of my head,” the man shoulders his rifle. “No knowing what you could see there.”

_“You’re a man of many talents, Gabriel.” Jack smiles, touching his forehead with a single finger. “But don’t poke where you shouldn’t. No knowing what you could see.” But he does see a double of Jack, grey, watching him with interest._

_“I knew when I saw you the first time,” the washed out doppelganger says soundlessly._

“And what if I want to know?”

“Tough luck, Prophet. You’ll have to get better at it than me.” The vigilante moves swiftly down to stand beside him. “They are better now, but still so mundane,” his hand caresses the maw of a beast that leans into the touch. “Use your imagination. And be more careful about what jobs you accept from Talon. After all, they killed the Prophet before you.”

_The building trembles with shock and Jack looks at him, through him, alarmed._

_“Shit. It’s them, they are finally making their move,” his eyes dart, mapping possible exits. “Hold my hand. Don’t let go, Gabe.” It’s too late even as they step through shadow. Jack uncurls his fingers and pushes him away. “You are ready. The offering must be made. The phantom…” He never finishes. The whole storey caves in._

“However useful you are now to them, they will not hesitate once they learn you’re the one carrying the Blood-Sin.” The man looks away, focusing on something. “The data they want now, you can give it to them, it won’t put them any closer to finding you, but it will harm many you friend cared for.”

_“But none as much as you, my hunter,” Jack buries his fingers in his hair, touching together their foreheads. Why did he forget?_


	5. Chapter 5

He listens to the whispers now, and the voices urge him on, his step light, searching, borderline worried - hurried with the insistence of the call. The vigilante rests by the wall, white hair marred with blood almost black in the dim of the night.

“ _I believed in you_ ,” the immaculate phantom declares and then falters and disappears.

“I’m glad you honored his memory,” the man rasps, voice halting, but the hand that reaches out is to stop him, not invite him in, and Reaper holds his distance. “He would be proud of you, Prophet.”

_“I am,” fingers ghost over his cheek. Jack gazes at him, eyes half-lidded, warm, alive. “You make me proud. You brave every trial, hunter of mine.” Lips touch his ear. “I am sorry for all the pain that waits ahead.”_

“I’ll live. Survived worse,” the vigilante mumbles slightly – Reaper can _feel_ his eyes closing. He strides forward, grabs the falling wrist and the whispers _sing_ while little _snowflies_ _dance_ at the tips of his claws.

The mournful whine the man lets slip fills him with trepidation.

_“Those touched by the Dark long to feel it again, like a sweet ambrosia, a poison and a salvation in one,” the blonde curls his lips wistfully. “There is no cure but to have faith and to pray dancing in the fires, until she comes and soothes the want.”_

“Forgive me, Prophet.” The voice is steadier, but wavers as the vigilante tugs his hand back out of Reaper’s grip.

_“Let him go, for now,” Jack whispers, leaning into the nape of his neck, pleading almost. “You will reclaim your phantoms.”_


	6. Chapter 6

“I seek strength. I will have it through you,” Sombra pledges herself, as much as her words can be trusted, and maybe there is more truth in the oath than she is aware herself as her shadow self wrenches her hands and shakes.

“ _I only wanted to be saved._ ”

_“Those that want the power the most are the ones that had it taken from them in the way most intimate,” Jack moves his pawn across the board, tip of his finger lingering on the chessman. “They don’t understand it. They are the first ones to topple over. They are the ones that can be led.” He lets go and the figurine teeters on the edge of falling down._

She accompanies him to Egypt, where Ana inclines her head lightly.

“Prophet. Gabriel.” Her shadow merely studies him in silence. “You chose both your guides wisely.”

_“The Bishop. An insidious one, lying in wait, striking from distance,” Jack flicks the chessman off the board._

Fareeha joins them not long after.

_“The Knight. Brute force and fierce loyalty,” the blonde nudges the horse forward. “The protector.”_

“They are bargaining with Talon for the Grimoire. It’s held in Hakim’s compound.” Sombra informs him.

_“The Rook. Point it and fire it, and it breaks through the defenses.” Jack chuckles._

The vigilante waits for him and Reaper sees his own visage tinted in red through the man’s eyes.

“And what is he?”

_“A Pawn. A sacrifice.” Fingers rest at his shoulder. “One to give up its life for the King and the Queen.” Jack smiles, touching his forehead to cold leather. “One that knows its purpose.”_


	7. Chapter 7

_“It’s loss that drives us. You, me, we have lost so much, so many times,” Jack intertwines fingers with his claws. “But with each loss you are becoming stronger. I am sorry I’ve never got to tell you everything,” blue eyes regard him warmly, “but when the Prophet falls, another must carry his mantle, another of ancient Blood.”_

“What is that Blood?”

The vigilante starts and looks at him over the flames.

“She was a priestess, long ago, maybe even in another world,” he shrugs. “Her line, like you, they can feel the Dark more than anyone else.”

“Like me?”

“There is only so few of us, of the faith, and much was lost in the years,” the man touches to his chest, to the hidden medallion. “Always to Iocus, whatever the name they wear at the time.”

_“Talon. I was too late to see what they were at their core,” Jack leans his head to his shoulder, weight reassuring and familiar. “Their creed is to root us all out, but their ambition to take the power of the Blood-Sin for themselves.”_

“The Bloodlines were lost five hundred years ago, but when the Prophet found you, we made sure your family was protected,” the vigilante’s shoulders tremble slightly. “But the line of the old Prophet… they were all slaughtered the same day he died.”

_“I miss them dearly,” regretful murmur escapes Jack’s lips. “I thought myself safe. I thought we were safe. I believed them forgotten,” his fingers tighten. He remembers the blonde never spoke of his family left behind._

“We’ve failed them. We won’t fail you, Prophet.” There is zeal in those words, a conviction, and snowflies dance over the fire between them.

_“I promise you this,” Jack brings his hand to lips and kisses the metal._


End file.
